


Ascendancy

by paintingoncobwebs



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Consensual Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 11:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintingoncobwebs/pseuds/paintingoncobwebs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felix can count on one hand the amount of times he’s uttered the word ‘no’ to Pan, but he can’t recall a single time that it has ever been accepted as an answer. The only thing that saying ‘no’ ever accomplishes is making Pan change his tactics.</p>
<p>PWP. Dark fic. Consensual violence. Takes place between Lost Girl and Quite a Common Fairy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ascendancy

Felix is awoken by the abstract sound of a voice saying, “Hey,” and a kick in the leg just shy of painful.

Felix knows it’s Pan in that peripheral sixth sense way one acquires after the first couple centuries.

“Hey!” Pan says again. His voice is a loud whisper, which can only suggest that this is a private wake up call.

Which, in turn, suggests it’s not worth it. Felix feels quite strongly that there should be tiers to early morning roll calls and anything less than a code red stage five is worth more than a couple hours of sleep. 

Perhaps if he plays dead, Pan will go away.

“ _Felix!_ ”

Or not.

Felix opens one eye balefully and Pan holds out his hand to hospitably help him up.

It’s so early that the birds haven’t begun singing and the cries of the children still echo in the distance. Felix understands, he truly does, that Pan’s been impotently bursting with an adrenaline high of excitement since Henry appeared; adrenaline that he hasn’t been able to act upon for fear of frightening the kid, but...

But, it’s just too damn early.

“Is there a problem?” Felix asks, sincerely but not without a shade of petulance. 

Pan drops his hand, thwarted momentarily by Felix’s drowsy disinterest. Pan’s voice is positively drenched in patronizing disdain when he says, “I don’t have problems. You know that.”

It can be very, very hard to be friends with Pan.

“Is there a challenge?”

Pan rolls his eyes and looks away in exasperation. “Feel free to wake up faster, Felix. Before you embarrass yourself.”

Felix rolls his shoulders back, stretches and looks up at Neverland’s perpetual twilight sky.

He opens his mouth to shoot back a witty retort, but when he looks up he finds Pan’s gaze is far off from his own. He’s looking behind him, just over Felix’s head, with a smitten softness to his features, like a boy watching his first childhood crush.

Felix knows, when he turns to look, what he’s going to see.

“Cute kid,” he says, before even spotting Henry curled up in the alcove of a tree.

“Isn’t he?” Pan says, agreeably. “I think I’ll keep him.” 

This is not going to end well for Henry, but Henry isn’t currently Felix’s concern.

There’s no point in disobeying orders and, as such, Felix holds out his hand for a boost up and Pan beams at him with a terrifying sort of manic glee.

Pan’s smiles are always excellent reminders of why it’s better to be with, and not against, him.

Felix is hardly on his feet before Pan is tilting his head and tossing out cocky smiles. He walks away with the general indication that he wants to be followed.

Felix takes an extra moment to retrieve his club and shake free his sullen mood.

“And the Savior?”

“Stalwart thing, isn’t she?”

Felix frowns. “That not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” Pan says, as though finding the topic boring and, consequently, substituting his own. “But I’m surprised. I expected less. ...Much less.”

Yes. Pan has never had a high esteem for Rumplestiltskin’s designs and Emma is an end product of the Dark Ones’s centuries invested plan.

Well, good for her, Felix supposes.

“I might keep her, too. Do you think the boys would like that?”

Felix doesn’t, as a matter of fact. Tink, with her intimidating breasts and intimidating legs, had caused them no small amount of boyish offense when Pan decided she was welcomed to stay.

But no girls around is not the same as no girls allowed.

The boys didn’t, perhaps don’t, see the broken, wingless fairy in her rotting dress, just as unwanted as the rest. They could see only the vast, all-encompassing difference between genders.

At the end of the day, however, Tinkerbell is soft and unassuming. Emma... Emma is not.

“It’s a passing fancy, Felix. Don’t go getting too lost in thought.” Pan says, “Little lost girls are a dime a dozen.”

Which is certainly a true fact, but little lost girls who’ve birthed kids three hundred years in the waiting are not. Felix looks at him skeptically.

Pan says, with an air of finality to the conversation, “There’s something else on my mind tonight.”

“Oh?”

Pan grabs a handful of Felix’s shirt, nails scratching into the skin beneath as he pulls Felix back, jerking him to a stop. Felix’s thoughts cut out. There’s not enough time to be concerned about this turn of events before Pan’s pushing him backwards; two sharp shoves against his chest but, luckily, Felix’s inevitable fall is stopped by a tree at his back.

Pan plucks the club from Felix’s hand, as though his skilled grip on the weapon is a joke, and spins it once before shoving it across Felix’s throat, pinning him in place and catching the air in his lungs.

Trapped.

Pan can be fast, so very, very fast, when he wants to be.

The wood is smooth from craftsmanship and years of use. Warm in the humidity of the island and unsettlingly deadly.

Pan’s using both of his hands to keep the club in place, but Felix isn’t stupid enough to fight back. Instead, he wracks his mind for what he possibly could have done to incur this sudden wrath. 

Pan’s been so happy these past days, high on accomplishment and his own cleverness. Felix can’t imagine anything bringing him down, let alone an unknown factor that has escaped his notice.

Such things simply do not happen.

But Pan gives Felix all his answers, quickly and without even needing to be asked.

Their mouths smash together, alarming and violent, but the instant Felix catches on is the instant he parts his lips and consents. 

Pan’s kisses always hurt and, sometimes, Felix wonders if Pan is pressing close and _believing_ he has sharp pointed teeth.

Felix doesn’t mind, not really. At least, not like he did when he was younger. Before, when Felix just didn’t understand this kid. Then, Pan’s teeth and nails had frightened him. Pinned down with Pan hot and slick behind him, waxing poetic about how very much Felix belonged here and how perfect he could be.

Though Felix knows better than to wonder if it’s a personal preference change or a cultivated one.

That’s the thing about Pan; you have to accept that he’s going to make edits here and there, when you’re not looking. When you’re least paying attention.

You simply have to trust that he’s making all the right revisions.

That he knows best.

It will only be a matter of time before Felix is tasting blood and so he tries to shake his head away from Pan’s to properly assess the situation. To see if he can’t calm down this sudden adrenaline rush of passion that’s swept Pan up.

Felix has barely moved an inch out of place before Pan’s shoving the club harder into his throat to keep him still. As far as warnings go, Felix feels that’s a bit over kill as he chokes, struggling for breath.

Pan swallows the sounds of Felix’s strangled gasps with a chuckle but lets up on the pressure. 

“Sorry,” Pan says, though Felix wouldn’t put money on his sincerity. 

He hums a simple, ‘hmmm’ for fear of coughing out a proper reply.

Pan lets the club fall down into one hand and gives it a bratty little sulk. “Pity,” he muses.

_Pity?_

Sonuva... 

Felix clears his throat, “That sort of night?” and painfully rubs his neck.

“Any reason it ought not be?”

Pan’s asking for permission, which would be a nice gesture if only Pan were the type to walk away when rejected.

Felix can count on one hand the amount of times he’s ever uttered the word ‘no’ to Pan, but he can’t recall a single time that it has been accepted as an answer.

The only thing that saying ‘no’ ever accomplishes is making Pan change his tactics. 

“It has been a long night, hasn’t it?” Pan asks, as per example.

“I’m not the one playing nice.” It’s not half as trying for him, when he’s not having to keep up a façade to play.

Pan shrugs. “You get used to it.”

Felix makes a face and, whatever Pan says, Felix knows he’d rather be playing the villain too.

Pan drops the club in favor of lifting Felix’s hand. He plays with the tips of his fingers and it’s cloying and sweet and it makes the hairs on Felix’s neck stand on end.

Heh.

So, _that’s_ how he’s going to change the game, then.

Pan tilts his head back and looks up at Felix with wide round eyes. He parts his lips and furrows his brow, tossing out all his boyish charms that have disarmed and won over hundreds throughout his lifetime.

“See?” Even Pan’s intonation changes when he’s playing innocent. “Not the hardship you think it is.” Pan gently laces their fingers together and says, “It’s so easy, Felix. ” As though his aversion to it has anything to do with its level of difficulty.

Felix tries this ‘soft hearted and gentle’ shtick on for a moment but can’t quite get over how absurd and ridiculous he feels wearing it. “Sure.” He shrugs. “But why enjoy it.”

Pan, of all people, needn’t bother.

“Because why not,” Pan says softly with lowered lashes. 

Felix wonders if Pan put in quality time perfecting this façade, or if it’s just another faucet that comes naturally to him.

Pan gives a tug on Felix’s hand and says, “This prudery doesn’t suit you. You know me so well, Felix, can’t you predict my next move?”

Felix can predict three possible moves. Pan is never unpredictable. Never. The trick is figuring out what game he’s being predictable in.

Then again, sometimes, even when Pan explicitly states the facts, it’s damn near impossible to figure out the next logical step.

Felix wonders if Emma has figured out the map yet.

“Do you want to know why you’re holding back?” Pan asks.

The very last thing he wants to be is under Pan’s microscope.

Felix’s fingers tighten around Pan’s and he yanks him close. An arm around Peter’s waist steadies him as Felix reverses their positions, Pan flat against the tree.

Pan laughs. “You _really_ don’t, do you?”

His hand in Pan’s hair tips his head back and Pan winces. Felix dips lower and licks a long line from Pan’s jaw down his throat.

“Careful,” Pan says, pushing back Felix’s hood. “Too much self-repression will leave you crying over your dolls in the forest.”

Felix chuckles and nips at his neck.

Pan threads his fingers into Felix’s hair. “Good boy,” he says and Felix scratches his teeth harder in reproach, growling at the patronization.

The feel of Pan’s hands stroking and petting soothes the sting momentarily, before he goes on and says, “ _My_ good boy?”

He’s only doing it to get a rise, but even knowing this Felix still lets him get under his skin.

Felix jerks back and rips the hands out of his hair; Pan’s fingers curl just enough to catch wisps of strands and tear them out.

Felix wraps Pan’s thin wrists in one hand and pins them to the tree, flesh scraping against the bark above his head.

Pan’s eyes, when Felix meets them, are bright and zealous. 

Pan licks his lips, eyes wide to proclaim his innocent sincerity. “No?”

Felix lips twitch into a smile. “Yes.” Of course yes, of course he is.

Pan always, always gets his ‘yes.’

And then it’s Pan’s turn to growl, with an entirely different sort of purpose behind it as he lunges, best as he’s able to, and kisses him. Messy and unrestrained and he can feel Pan’s teeth just _there_ , against his lips. The beginnings of a scrape, scratching at him before Pan reigns himself in and pulls away, tipping his head back against the tree to stare up at the branches.

Felix can _feel_ Pan’s restraint and he thinks that, that right there, is the most erotic thing about it all.

Incredible.

Pan’s small, so much smaller than he is and, therefore, so easy to pin down. 

Felix has lived for centuries but the perpetual youth in him still holds onto the delusion that this means something. That dominance can be gained and kept by who is the biggest bully on the playground.

Pan flexes his hands into fists, tugging lightly to test the strength of Felix’s hold and so Felix tightens his grip to keep him still and asks, “Comfortable?” 

“Who’s asking?” Pan’s voice is low and soft and Felix closes his eyes to properly appreciate it. “Felix?” Pan asks, “Or the Lost Boy?”

“It’s always me.”

“As you say.” 

Felix watches him, looking for a sign in Pan’s expression to clarify what he means, exactly, by that. 

But Pan remains staring up at the sky and doesn’t elaborate. In the spirit of their pretend, Felix gives the benefit of the doubt that Pan’s not reaching for a symbolic statement and is merely filling the reply with his standard style of catty retorts.

Felix pushes his leg between Pan’s thighs and when Pan twists, trying his best to grind down against his knee, Felix uses their height difference to stretch Pan higher and keep him still. Keep him up and away.

Pan’s laughter is wild and melodic. 

For a moment, Pan is the absolute perfection of beauty. Pinned down and exultant. Felix knows he should drink it in, it’s as close to submissive as Pan’s really capable of getting, but he breaks first; crashing their mouths together and choking Pan on his own laughter with tongue and teeth and hunger and greed.

Possessive and claiming.

It’s a chaotic mess of a kiss, more violent than it is passionate, and twisted up into a worse frenzy when Felix grabs a handful of Pan’s shirt and pulls, yanking the top up.

There’s magic at Pan’s fingertips, Felix can _feel_ it thrumming there, begging to be useful, but Felix already has the shirt wrenching free before it becomes necessary. The fabric tears beneath Pan’s belt, snagged on a knife, perhaps, or a spike. Felix isn’t sure what Pan has stored away on him, but the cloth breaks free and the next moment Felix is ripping it over Pan’s head.

Pan hisses a sharp cry, an angry expletive caught between his teeth. Felix doesn’t care and he doesn’t think Pan’s all that interested in stopping for pain either.

Pan’s panting, disheveled and breathless when he says, “Well, then. Who’s behaving, now?” 

Felix tilts his head to the side, watching with focused interest as Pan licks his lips and waits for a reply.

Felix ignores him in favor of sliding his hand between them and cupping Pan’s cock through the fabric of his trousers. 

Pan’s hands clench into fists and he inhales sharply. Felix watches his eyes, smirking and smug, as they darken for him.

“I suppose,” Pan says, “you don’t want to know about that, either. Do you?”

Felix chuckles, resting his forehead against Pan’s for a moment. Absolutely incorrigible. 

“Shhh,” Felix says, pressing a light kiss to Pan’s lips, encouraging him to close them.

Pan looks sulkily at him, but remains silent as Felix lowers himself to his knees.

Felix buries his face between Pan’s thighs, licking and sucking at the fabric covering his cock. Pan’s hips thrust forward, instinctually; delicious for the rarity of Pan acting with unplanned, uncalculated movements.

Felix’s teeth catch on the ties securing his trousers and pull petulantly while his hands toil and succeed with his belt.

“I only want you,” Pan says, sounding winded but determined, “to know you as well as I do, Felix.”

Felix growls, drawing back with Pan’s laces between his teeth.

Pan chuckles. “Don’t be mad. I’m only playing.” He reaches down, his hand sliding under Felix’s chin and tipping his head up. “Shall _I_ be quiet, then? Would you like that?”

Like it or not, it wouldn’t last. Pan’s in far too good a mood not to play exactly as he wants.

“I know me, Pan. And I know you.” Felix knows exactly what Pan would do if he stood up and abandoned him here against this tree.

Pan smiles and lets go of his chin. “Don’t you know it’s not nice to play off people’s insecurities?”

Felix laughs, resting his forehead against Pan’s stomach. 

He shifts his hand, massaging his fingers over the bulge in Pan’s pants. It makes Pan sigh noisily but it doesn’t stop his sarcastic rejoinder. “Don’t be like that; villainous. You don’t want to give us a bad name, do you, Felix? How terribly unflattering.”

When Pan’s the death of him, he hopes the kid feels bad.

Felix rocks back, sitting on his ankles and pulling his hand away.

“Ah,” Pan says with a sulk, “Repercussions.”

“Mmmhmm.” 

“Can’t we skip this part, Felix? Pretend I’ve learned my lessons? I _do_ feel ever so repentant.”

And he looks it.

Felix doesn’t know what game Pan is playing; if he’s switching it mid-role or changing the rules, but he’s positive it’s coalescing perfectly in Pan’s head and Felix just can’t see it.

Yet.

Pan is always very clear on telling people why and how they lost, at the end.

But he does know one thing. “As you would forgive me?”

Pan stares quietly down at him for a long moment before closing his eyes contritely. “All my apologies, Felix.” Yes, Pan will be the absolute death of him. “I was out of line and I know it.” Pan opens his eyes, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. “And when you’re so pretty on your knees. I think you should stay. I want you to stay. ...please, Felix? I’ll be quiet.”

Felix’s reply is his hands on Pan’s trousers, pulling them down, and his fingers curling, firm and approving, around Pan’s cock. He rubs his lips against it, sucking rich, wet kisses along the shaft and whispering a teasing breath across the head.

Felix can hear the _thump_ of Pan’s skull knocking back against the tree as he slips his lips over his cock. Felix hollows his cheeks and flattens his tongue, taking him to the back of his throat in one swift movement.

Pan’s hand slips into his hair kneading his head and it’s satisfying and perfect because now and again his fingers grasp a handful of hair and Felix _knows_ Pan’s just itching to clench his fist and hold tight. To keep him in place and fuck his mouth because Pan is lousy as hell playing docile, but he’s trying. Really trying. His hands let go and his fingers spread out, splaying down his neck and continuing on petting pleasantly.

But it’s only minutes before Pan’s tugging him back and prompting Felix to stop. He sits back on his ankles and looks up curiously.

Pan wears a smitten and indulgent smile, but his eyes say differently.

Felix wonders if it’s boredom lurking there, because it’s ludicrous to assume something so passive and tame could get him off.

“Tell me what you want,” Felix begs.

Pan raises his eyebrow as a reminder of his recent promise to be quiet.

Felix chuckles.

“Henry,” Pan concedes.

“Right now?” Felix asks with wide, mocking eyes. “I can grab him for you...”

Though Felix learned long ago to put nothing past Pan.

“Do you think he’d mind?”

“Not once you’re done talking.”

“I don’t need words.” Pan says sulkily, like Felix is handing him a crutch. 

“But you want them.”

“I do.”

Felix crooks a cocky smile, loosens his hold on Pan’s hips and begins to move away.

Ask and thou shalt receive...

“Giving up so easily?” There’s never any point in trying to call Pan out on anything. He’ll always turn it around and make it seem like it was your fault all along. “Don’t be shy to tell me if you are, Felix. I’ll need time to find your replacement and to devise a proper going away party.”

Felix doesn’t have time to find a fitting reply before Pan’s hands come up to his shoulders and _shove_.

Thrown back, Felix lands hard on the ground and finds himself staring up at the sky. 

There’s really nothing to do about it but laugh. The fact that it hurts like a bitch only makes his chuckle darker.

Pan walks a circle around him, already stripped down by the time Felix shifts his gaze to follow his movements. His head is tilted in study as though Felix is a fascinating bit of prey left out as a gift.

When Felix tries to get up Pan holds his hand, palm down, above Felix and the air becomes dense and heavy and keeps him firmly rooted to the ground.

It sends a delicious rush of momentary panic and, consequently, excitement through him. Felix enjoys the danger, no matter how play-pretend it really is. He knows Pan isn’t going to crush him under the weight of the atmosphere, but that’s no reason to be foolish.

“Are you jealous?” Pan asks as he plants his feet on either side of Felix and, when he crouches down, Felix tests the waters to stretch up. Nothing stops him. He props himself up with his hands behind him and watches Pan. “Or is it that you want to be?”

“I was just--” Felix beings, wanting to say that he was joking, but Pan cuts him off.

“It’s true, you know. It _is_ true, I’ve always wanted Henry... most. But not,” Pan says, trailing his thumb over Felix’s lips, “I think, quite like this.”

Felix tips his head back and sighs as Pan’s fingers hook around his scarf. For a moment Felix thinks he’s going to twist his wrist and draw the fabric tight.

His throat is sore, tender already and sure to bruise, but he figures he can go with it. There’s no point in being pre-emptively close minded.

But, and not without a knowing smirk, Pan proves his paranoia wrong. He works the ties free with deft fingers. Gentle and caressing.

Soothing.

Pan’s hand slides lower and Felix’s shirt breaks like nothing more substantial than cobwebs under Pan’s touch.

He can’t reach lower than Felix’s belt without some awkward shuffling, but his spell continues further down without touch; belt and pants and shoes splintering away, leaving useless rags and a cloak for facsimile of a blanket.

“Lie back,” Pan whispers, pushing Felix’s hair away from his face. The gesture feels almost motherly; attentive and tender. Warm.

If Felix were the purring type, he just might. 

Pan follows him down, resting his forehead against Felix’s. It’s too close and his eyes cross as he stares up at Pan.

He should look away, be the one to blink first, but Pan’s staring him in the eyes and watching with intense intrigue and Felix grasps the attention with both hands and refuses to let go.

It’s not rare nor hard to get Pan’s attention, but Felix wonders how much of Pan’s focus is here with him now and how much is off with the kid under the tree.

Pan’s the sort who’s fully capable of accomplishing five different, intricate, tasks at once without skipping a beat, and Felix knows better than to be jealous of compartmentalized thinking, but that’s not to say it doesn’t feel greedy to crave it, either.

Of course, wanting _all_ of Pan’s attention is a ridiculous fancy that only ever complicates his thoughts.

It’s the sort of topic that, when he ruminates on it, makes him vaguely uncomfortable.

Pan’s never, _never_ promised his undivided attention and wanting it, craving it, gives Felix the sneaking suspicion that the desire was conditioned into him. That maybe, perhaps, he is nothing more, and nothing less, than what Pan decided he should be.

Because Felix will gleefully kill and torture and _die_ for this kid. Because it’s Pan that makes him fucking ecstatic to wake up each morning and who gives a damn about the details so long as he loves his life.

Which he does.

And he does.

Felix shakes off the thought, as he always does, because Pan’s manipulations don’t matter, not _really_ , when, at the end of it all, Felix is happy.

Pan raises Felix’s hand to his mouth and presses his lips against the back. “I know you’re not afraid of me,” he says and his breath is hot, ghosting over Felix’s skin.

Pan slides the tip of his tongue over each knuckle, raising his eyebrow and Felix realizes he’s waiting for a reply.

“Of _you?_ ” he says, putting as much emphasis on the rebuttal as possible.

“Well,” Pan teases with a sharp shock of a smile, “When you put it that way...”

Felix shrugs, carefree as ever, and Pan presses, “But you’re not.”

“No.”

“Yet you look it.”

“...oh.”

“I recommend you stop, Felix. It’s starting to feel like a dare.”

“To scare me?”

“I think I can.”

Felix _knows_ he can. After all these years Felix has become very comfortable in Pan’s presence and has learned all the tricks, but Pan’s clever and there’s always something he’s holding back.

Felix knows the game and he knows how to play, but Pan has an uncanny ability to be ten steps ahead without anyone having noticed he was trying.

Perhaps it is that Pan doesn’t try. It’s second nature and habit, coalescing subconsciously into his head while everyone else flounders away.

Felix is so busy watching Pan’s mouth on his skin that it’s almost a surprise to see, when he looks up, that Pan’s wearing what almost appears to be an honest smile. It’s simple and reaches his eyes and Felix, of course, could be wrong, but...

Pan kisses Felix’s palm and licks a long wet strip from wrist to fingers before drawing his hand down. Pan presses it flat against Felix’s stomach, sliding their hands lower until he’s able to circle their fingers around Felix’s cock. While Felix shudders and writhes and whispers encouragement Pan says, “Tell me,” soft and breathy, “what do _you_ want?”

It’s a question that should have been asked before, when Felix understood that sounds formed words that expressed thoughts. 

Pan goes on ahead and makes it all the more difficult by curling his fingers tighter around his own and prompting Felix’s hand to move, slow strokes and a steady rhythm.

“You,” Felix says, because he can’t think of a single other thing or person or _demon_ that can bring him to such a state.

“Me?” Pan says, sounding indulgent and looking charmed. “I’m flattered, but I’m right here. You already have that. A bit more imagination, yes? You’re a Lost Boy, I know you’ve fantasy enough to spare. What do you want from me?”

What Felix wants, _really wants_ , is to be the best friend of the most powerful creature in existence. To be a leader, to be trusted. He wants to fight pirates and Saviors and make almighty Dark One’s cry out for their daddies.

What Felix wants, what he wants from Pan, is _this life_. Eternally.

“Deep thoughts?” Pan asks like a mind reader, though it’s really just the years between them. “Tell me.”

Felix shakes his head. He doesn’t know how to concisely put his reflections together well enough to speak them.

“You don’t want to say?” Pan cajoles.

Hah!

But, yeah. That.

“Pan... Peter. Don’t ruin the mood.”

“Let _me_ worry about that,” Pan says, his thumb caressing the back of Felix’s hand as he continues pumping him in firm, deliberate strokes in that perfect way Pan has of subduing a person, keeping them in check and making them enjoy every second of it.

Felix chuckles ,”Let Peter Pan do the heavy lifting?”

Pan’s grip around his cock tightens and he traces circles around the tip. It’s almost pathetic, how easily the kid can short out all of Felix’s thoughts and glib retorts and make him squirm and moan.

“Just so.” Pan says with a smug, smug smile.

“I was thinking about victory. That we will win.”

Pan chuckles, sinister and cold and so very, very seductive. “Oh we will, Felix. We shall. They’re licking their wounds as we... speak. They’re not sleeping tonight any more than we are; they’re tossing and turning, too. Sweating hot,” Pan says, sliding their hands faster and tugging hard for just a few more beats before relaxing his grip entirely, his hand laying light and gentle over Felix’s, “and drying cold in their conjured little beds.”

Felix makes a mewling, whimpering sort of sound in the back of his throat and Pan smirks but urges Felix to continue his strokes, without guidance, with an encouraging press against his wrist.

“Children playing at heroics,” Pan continues, in a low growl that Felix can hardly hear over the sound of his pounding, echoing heartbeat. “Do you remember being so new to the world that someone could make you scared simply by telling you that you should be?” 

His hand slips away from Felix’s wrist and falls to rest on the ground. Pan pulls himself up higher so he can properly gaze down. His smile is dark and twisted and doesn’t at all match the bright and hungry look in his eyes.

“What else should I tell them?” Pan asks, leaning down to kiss Felix’s eyes closed. “What else could a persuasive voice make them agree with?”

Pan slides his mouth down Felix’s temple and his lips brush against his ear, breath hot and voice a raspy whisper as he says, “More importantly, Felix, what can a persuasive mouth do to you?”

Felix groans and it seems that Pan’s voice is capable of undoing him completely.

Pan nuzzles his neck, sucking wet messy kisses against his skin while his hair tickles Felix’s face.

“I think,” Pan says, voice muted against Felix’s skin as his mouth ghosts down the line of his collar to his chest, “I do think, it won’t take anything more than a clever tongue to break you.”

Pan bows his neck, resting his forehead against Felix’s chest. His fingers drum on the ground next to Felix’s ear. Contemplating, thoughtful or maybe just drawing out the moment, then Pan’s head shoots up, eyes sharp and pupils blown wide with lust. “Doubt me, Felix. Dare me.”

Felix smiles, all teeth, and cups Pan’s cheek in his palm, sliding his thumb over his lips, “Of course I do.” Pan’s lips part and Felix slides the pad of his finger over the bottom row of his teeth. “Yes.”

Pan ducks his head and presses small, gentle kisses down Felix’s chest, his abdomen and dips his tongue into his navel. Pan’s hand slides down Felix’s arm and his fingers wrap around his wrist, plucking his hand away. 

And then Pan’s mouth closes around him. Warm and amazing. Staggering.

The last thing that Felix really wants is Pan’s sharp, enthusiastic teeth around his cock but when the most powerful creature in the world is between your legs you don’t say ‘no.’

Pan’s eyes flick up to his. They’re dark, so dark, and he looks dreamy, more dazed than Felix himself feels.

This, _this_ , is what Pan’s really after. Pan wants to see him break. 

But it’s not about profundity or coaching nor a hundred different forms of indoctrination and the intention behind it makes all the difference. 

Felix knows better than to tangle his fingers in Pan’s hair, but he can’t help it. It’s like instinct. Possessive, needy, _wanting_ instinct. Pan’s trying not to smile at the movement, trying to focus and not pull back and laugh. Felix can feel it in the way his lips move and, actually, Felix isn’t so sure if he would mind. 

He very nearly feels the same. High on the moment.

And then his hips move and Pan closes his eyes tightly as Felix hits the back of his throat. Felix does laugh, then, while Pan tries not to choke. A dark chuckle that echoes chillingly amongst the trees.

Pan’s fingernails dig into Felix’s thighs and there’s a hint of teeth to go along with the warning, too. Slight and innocuous and, were it anyone else, Felix would consider it trivial.

Were it anyone else.

Felix takes a deep breath, with added effort to be still, because he really does think that Pan is fantasizing about holding him down and stroking him with his teeth until he cries for mercy.

But there’s pain for erotica and there’s pain for sadism and whether or not which Pan prefers, he knows the difference and Felix trusts him.

Completely.

He can only bear to watch Pan’s head nodding back and forth for a moment longer before it becomes much too much. Felix drapes his arm over his face, covering his eyes and clenching his hands into tight fists.

The children cry in the distance while Felix chokes back his moans, gasping and sighing, small whimpers caught in the back of his throat. 

Hushed.

Pan makes no such effort.

Felix knows, at the heart of it all, Pan isn’t going to do anything to hurt the boys. He’s not going to let them stumble sleepily into a scene like this, but there’s a nervy layer of voyeurism at play. Or perhaps it only seems as such to Felix’s heightened senses. The erotic wet noises coming from Pan’s mouth and the vibrating moans that seem to pound, echoing loudly around them.

And then Pan shifts, balancing back on his knees to free his hands, and presses a single, slick finger inside him.

Felix doesn’t mind surprises, at least not in the way that Pan does, but that breaks him. He cries out a sharp, back arching growl of desire and Pan adds a second; teasing, stretching and perfect and Felix thrusts his hips as he comes. He can feel Pan swallowing, over and over again, until the aftershocks of his orgasm fade away and leave him listless and pliant. He rolls his head to the side to look at Pan.

Pan scrunches up his face, furrowing his brow and Felix thinks it’s meant to make him laugh and so he does. A drowsy chuckle, spent and lethargic.

Pan’s lips pull back into a bright smile. It’s pure charisma and wholly endearing and even if Felix didn’t know this kid, even if he wasn’t logically aware that Pan was at his most dangerous when he was charming people, he would still be able to sense the threat immediately.

Pan slides up his body, positively radiating danger. He moves too fluidly, watches too intently. Felix can feel Pan’s magic like static vibrations in the air, sending off instinctual warning bells in his head.

He ignores them. 

Felix trusts Pan more than he cares about self-preservation.

And he’s just too damn smitten to brace himself.

“Okay?” Pan asks, and Felix hums an agreeable sound.

Pan laughs a dark sort of chuckle that doesn’t quite reach his lips, but catches in the back of his throat. “Yes?”

“Oh, yes.” Felix says, mindlessly repeating Pan’s words because he’s not feeling especially up for an intelligent dialogue.

Pan kisses his brow. “Are you still with me, Felix?” Pan asks, amused, but pressing the issue and Felix resigns himself to getting his head back in the game.

Felix’s brain stutters for a shrewd response, but comes up cliché. “Where else would I be?” It’s better than silence, he supposes. 

Pan raises his eyebrow sarcastically and reaches up to curl strands of Felix’s hair around his fingers. “That’s okay,” he says, though he sounds rather disappointed. “It’s all right. I can work around that.”

His hair is only curled around two of Pan’s fingers, but when the kid clenches his fist they hook tight, painfully jerking his head to the side.

It’s certainly a wake up call.

Pan’s mouth finds the edge of the scars marring Felix’s face and his tongue traces along it. “You don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to.”

“ _We_ don’t have to talk.”

“Nonsense. You had your fun,” Pan says, kissing the corner of Felix mouth when he runs out of lines. “It’s my turn.” 

Pan’s tongue brushes over his lips and, when Felix parts them, it slides along his teeth; Pan fills Felix’s mouth with words, “That’s only fair. Don’t pretend you’re not curious. ‘What will he say?!’” Pan whispers theatrically, putting words, not incorrectly, into Felix’s silence. 

Pan tips his head and brings his mouth to Felix’s ear. His lips and tongue brush against flesh and his voice is low and breathy. “You want to know what I think.” Pan’s teeth graze against the soft skin pensively before adding, “ _How._ ” 

Pan nuzzles against Felix, intimate and warm, like he wants to burrow himself, close and tight, and nestle as near as possible. “You,” he says, “more than any of the rest, want to be my confidant.”

Pan’s nose is cold against Felix’s temple and his breath ghosts hot over his cheek. 

“To be well informed, at the top.” Felix can feel Pan’s eyes widening and eyebrows raising mockingly. Felix’s echoing smile is drowned out in Pan’s hair. “But not too close?” Pan asks rhetorically, “One misstep failure and all the repercussions fall on _your_ shoulders. Are you creative enough to juggle obstacles? All the damage control. Heh. Let Peter Pan do the heavy lifting...?”

Pan bites down, hard enough to make Felix choke back a sharp yelp.

“At the top,” Pan whispers, “beneath me.”

Pan’s fingers close tightly around Felix’s jaw and jerk his head up. He flattens his tongue against Felix’s collar and laves a long, wet strip along the bend of his neck and back to his ear. “You want to submit so badly I can _taste_ it. Not like the others. No. Not like our friends. True submission. Powerful submission. You want me to respect every second you obey.”

Pan’s fingers leave his hair and he runs the back of his hand down the side of Felix’s face and his palm down his left shoulder to his wrist. He pulls Felix’s arm away, stretching it out across the ground. Pliant, Felix doesn’t stop him, keeping his hand outstretched as Pan asks, “Do you think I do, Felix?” 

Pan’s nails dig welts into Felix’s arm on their return journey and Felix exhales a deep shuddering sigh that pulses between them. “Tell me.” Pan says, “Do you?”

It feels like a trick question but Felix knows, here and now and regardless of any heartfelt truths, that there’s only one correct answer: “Yes.”

Felix can feel Pan’s laughter, vibrating his body, more than he can hear a single sound of it. Pan doesn’t confirm or deny the response and Felix doesn’t expect him to. Pan likes to leave profound questions unanswered, echoing in their victims head to stress and toil over.

Pan shifts over to take hold of Felix’s right hand, intertwining their fingers and gripping hard. Felix looks down at their hands, taut and growing white under the strain. Slowly, very slowly, Pan asks, “ _But do you?_ ”

Felix knows better than to really let Pan’s words sink into his psyche. 

He doesn’t know if Pan believes his lecture true, but he knows that’s not the point. That Pan would forge new roads to the same conclusion; create an inner theory for him to philosophize and worry on, if only for the ability to.

Does Felix acquiesce to Pan’s desires because of their friendship or because of their power dynamics?

Both roads lead to trust, the conflict is how one gets there.

Felix drowns it out because it’s a fool’s errand to believe that once Pan’s muddled up the thought process route that anyone could be able to tread the old paths again.

Pan brings Felix’s hand to his mouth and drags his teeth to scrape over the back. When Felix doesn’t reply he smirks, shaking his head in condescension.

Pan has to stretch himself in order to draw Felix’s hand away this time, lengthening his body as he pulls out Felix’s arm across the ground. He drags his mouth over the limb as he slides himself back up, stopping when they’re eyelevel and their noses touch.

Felix stares up at him, feeling drugged and high on the kid and his look of dark eyed enjoyment. Pan has a way of merging pliantly blissed out eyes and sharp venomous smiles into a well suited, reflective, expression.

“Close your eyes for me.”

Pan’s angle is clear enough and Felix knows that this game doesn’t include answering questions, so why bother asking, but he hesitates.

Pan’s eyebrows furrow together unhappily and he looks wounded by the reluctance. It’s a testament to Pan, really, that he can feel betrayed by a moments failed acquiescence, after playing someone literally as a puppet.

Yet, still, Felix complies.

Pan sighs out a satisfied, easy breath and he says, in a rewarding, pleasant tone, “Thank you, Felix.”

Felix hums out a sound meant to signify, ‘you’re welcome’ as Pan dips his head, his hair tickling at Felix’s face, and even when he arcs his neck to get away it pushes sweat slick and windblown around him.

Pan lays his fingers on Felix’s shoulder, in the crevice between collar and bone, rubbing soft little circles with the pads of his fingers.

Felix doesn’t really know what to expect, going from there, only that it’s best logical to brace himself.

A shrewdness proven fact when Pan replaces fingers with lips and pain like a Savior’s sword or a Queen’s fire, like a red hot dynamite explosion, digs into his shoulder; it seizes his nerve endings and wracks his body in a sharp convulsion.

Felix doesn’t quite catch his voice before barking out a cry. His teeth click loudly together, trying to chomp it back.

Pan presses his tongue, cool and wet, over the brutalized range of flesh and Felix believes, truly believes, that Pan means it to be soothing but it accomplishes nothing more than to bluntly enhance the throb of agonized tendons.

And then Pan’s mouth moves away entirely and with it the magic fueling the torture.

Felix takes a deep, albeit shaky, breath.

Pan’s hand crawls down Felix’s chest, his fingers tapping lightly for every inch they make on his body; up and down and up again until landing on his sternum in the soft area between his ribs.

Pan moves his mouth and it’s actually, honestly, harder to take the second time, knowing what to anticipate 

But Felix doesn’t say ‘no’ and so Pan doesn’t stop. 

Felix isn’t _scared_ and pain alone doesn’t seem like a good enough reason to put an end to Pan’s pleasure. Felix knew what it was he signed up for the moment he pinned Pan against the tree.

Felix can’t see, in fact his eyes squeeze shut tighter still, but in his mind he imagines Dreamshade poison, black veins fanning out like vines on his skin beneath Pan’s lips; or reddening, blistering, _boiling_ flesh, in tiny waves sinking into his body.

In reality he supposes it appears as nothing, belying the pain.

Felix digs his hands into the dirt until his fingers hurt and strain. It’s not the best distraction from but it’s _a_ distraction.

This time it’s Pan who can’t quite keep himself together. Felix chokes on his screams and bites down on moans of agony but Pan trembles in a full body shiver and sighs out a lust-filled whisper that fans hot air over the blistering pain.

He can feel Pan’s hardness at his thigh, rubbing against him as the kid breathes ragged, noisy breaths. Momentarily paused and physically fighting himself for control.

For as much as Pan believes Felix wants to submit, Felix thinks Pan wants him to twice as much.

Felix is so lost, thinking about Pan’s undoing, that he fails to have felt Pan’s wandering hand until it lands on his hip and Pan’s wriggling lower. He replaces his lips there, too, opening his mouth wide over the bone to lightly dig his teeth in temptingly. 

And then Pan’s lips purse into a kiss and Felix cringes back before the pain even begins.

Pan pauses, hesitates and then shifts.

Forward, apparently, because Felix can feel the cold tip of Pan’s nose against his hip and his forehead against his stomach.

“No?” Pan asks, like a dare.

Maybe he cares whether or not Felix can suffer the pain, but it’s certainly all part of the game.

Which isn’t to say that the game is designed to break him, however.

“Okay,” Pan says softly, because sometimes silence is the most incriminating response of all. Pan pulls himself up and stretches his body over Felix’s. Chest to chest, hip to hip, but Pan’s too slight for their ankles to meet. “Okay.”

Both of Pan’s hands come up to cradle Felix’s face, tipping his head just slightly back. He can feel Pan’s breath ghosting over his lips for a kiss.

Pan purrs against him, an inquisitive, soft sound that Felix can feel shivering against his mouth.

An unasked request.

An unasked command.

It’s not a question at all of trust. He knows exactly what Pan’s going to do, if he’s welcomed in for a kiss, and there’s no pretending on either side.

Felix doesn’t hesitate, not really, but when he parts his lips on a smile, dangerous and feral, it feels sudden and abrupt even to him. It feels forced. 

Pan makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and Felix so wants to open his eyes and see what sort of desperate, amused, _needy_ fucking expression he’s wearing.

Their lips crash brutally together, as though Pan’s lunged all his strength into the kiss. Felix’s head digs hard into the ground. There’s teeth, tongue, the sharp sting of his lip splitting and a mouthful of magic, so much magic that Felix can’t swallow fast enough and drowns, spluttering, on incorporeal liquid.

It flows over his teeth, curls around his tongue and catches down his throat like thick molasses, coating his mouth and overflowing onto his lips.

Felix screams into it, a gut wrenching scream of sheer agony that wracks violently between them.

It’s a fast, hellish kiss. A sadists kiss. One that Pan doesn’t draw out, sliding away quickly and tipping his head to rest against Felix’s cheek. He’s panting, deep ragged breathes that shake through him and that have nothing to do with exertion or discomfort.

That have nothing to do with empathy.

Pan whispers, “You’d think I was killing you,” sounding winded, lusting and dark. 

Seductive. 

Felix swallows thickly, hunting for a reply. His throat’s burning and he doesn’t want to breathe in Neverland air to scratch over the fiery, grating pain.

But Pan raises his hand, clumsy at the angle and lack of sight, to lay two silencing fingers over Felix lips, stopping any forthcoming replies anyways.

Pan breathes deep against Felix’s skin and a second later is sitting back. Pan catches his weight on his ankles and looks over Felix’s position. Arms still spread out, stretched tense on either side of him, where Pan placed them. 

Unmoved. 

Pan looks at each in turn and there’s blood, his blood, on Pan’s teeth when he smiles in confirmation. 

Pan raises his eyebrow as though a single expression can encompass an entire conversation.

He’s right, he _is_ right, though Felix wouldn’t say that not punching the kid is the epitome of submissive proof.

Felix would call it ‘rising to the challenge.’ 

But no one wears self-satisfied expressions quite as well as Pan and so Felix lets the rebuttal lie dormant between them.

Perhaps, Felix supposes, he wouldn’t ‘rise to challenge’ for anyone else. No one else could dare get him to willingly scream for them. 

But is that proof of submission or is that proof of...

Pan kisses his forehead, catching strands of hair on his lips that tickle Felix’s face when Pan shuffles down to watch him. Pan looks docile and soft, lacking words, or perhaps lacking the desire to find any, to spin and ensnare him with.

He looks easily content, rearranging himself to lay between Felix’s legs and Felix spreads out further and consciously relaxes.

There’s stretching, more stretching but not with hands this time. Or, rather, not with Pan’s physical, corporeal hands. Those are busy combing through Felix’s hair and intertwining with his own. 

There’s nothing complex about the way Pan’s hands squeeze his own. Nothing deliberate in the way he lets Felix kiss him and doesn’t take control. Responding amenably. Malleable and compliant.

The games and lies are a more honest aspect of Pan than this straightforward natural state ever could be, but that doesn’t make it less real. Less secure.

Less _valued._

Pan’s first thrust inside is slick with magic and slow with consideration.

Moments later and there’s a draft of magic draping around them, suspended in a gale and coasting pointlessly. Felix always feels a modicum of worry every time Pan doesn’t have a tight fist around Neverland or its magic. He knows it means nothing, in the scheme of things. It should be flattering, really and, anyways, one sharp thought and it will all be back entirely under Pan’s control.

But Pan seems so paltry, so _mortal_ and artless when he’s not the very essence of Neverland.

Pan’s thrusts settle into a steady rhythm and Felix bites his lip and banishes the insolent thoughts. 

Even were it his place to mandate how Pan chooses to control himself, it’s hardly worthwhile. Pan’s control hasn’t snapped or bended and it’s all a lot of unjustifiably paranoid thoughts.

Felix caresses his hands down Pan’s back, instead, but Pan rolls his shoulders in mild irritation, as though Felix were a bug tickling him. When Felix slides his hands back up, gentle and indulgent, Pan growls.

The only thing intimidating about the sound is the fact that behind the pathetic little noise Pan’s probably thought up three different ways to have this all end with Felix in tears, crying out for a blankie.

Felix switches tactics, narrowing his eyes devilishly and scraping his nails over Pan’s back. His fingers dip between each vertebra and raise thick, angry welts in their wake. 

There’s skin, _Pan’s skin_ , under his nails and Pan’s reaction is to arc into it, shuddering and damn near fucking purring approval.

Felix shakes his head, incredulous in the wake of Pan’s profound issues.

Pan sucks a lazy kiss from Felix’s lips and, when the cut begins to bleed anew, licks a healing spell over the wound. Pan’s hand hooks around Felix’s thigh, prompting him to draw his knee up to his chest. Felix pulls the other up as well, cradling it against Pan’s side and the new position makes Felix’s body jerk roughly with each of Pan’s increasingly vigorous thrusts.

Pan buries his head in the crook of Felix’s neck; he must be getting a mouthful of grass, but he makes no effort to elongate their makeshift blanket.

He moans softly and says something wholly unintelligible that makes Felix chuckle. “What was that?”

More mumbling and Felix knows that, if Pan’s speaking, it’s wise to do a double take and listen, but instead he threads his fingers through Pan’s hair, over and over, and nestles him close. The kid isn’t a fan of soft, endearing embraces, but Felix feels that some moments call for it and, wrapped around Pan, hot and sweaty and out of breath, it just feels _right_ for the occasion.

A second later Pan’s teeth are in Felix’s neck.

Felix’s shout is more unexpected than the injury, and he thinks maybe this is what Pan had been trying to talk about, when Felix decided to ignore his words. That perhaps there could have been precious seconds to brace himself.

Felix’s back arcs up, instinctually rocking back in pain, and Pan drives harder into him. Between the two at odd movements Pan’s mouth jolts awkwardly against Felix’s throat and his teeth jerk, rending deeper.

Felix keeps nonsensical words like ‘wait’ and ‘stop’ to himself, closing his eyes tightly against involuntary tears and squeezing Pan’s hand harder as his thrusts lose rhythm and Felix waits out his climax.

It doesn’t take long and Pan comes with a low, throaty moan and then a dark chuckle, more chilling than Felix had presumed Pan’s mood shifted into.

Pan lays listlessly on top of him but it seems to take only seconds for the kid’s breathing to even out. A moment later and the pulsating ambience of magic gusting around them evaporates. Its disappearance is forceful, like the atmosphere is being sucked away in a vacuum.

Pan nuzzles against him, cuddling close and making a thoughtful humming sound before shifting to kiss his cheek. It’s silly for a moment until Felix realizes what stain his lips must have left. He rolls his eyes but, before he has a chance to comment on the act, Pan’s hand squeezes his a final time and a not-unpleasant chill swells out from his palm, down his arm, fanning out to encompass his body and with it the aches and pains wash away.

Felix moans as Pan pushes himself up with two hands flat on Felix’s chest.

It’s only for a moment that Felix sees Pan’s sweat slicked hair and the blood on his face. By the time the magic has sweep away all of Felix’s injuries, Pan is once more in pristine Lost Boy precision. Hair and clothes and skin perfectly set to greet a new adventure.

“How old were you when you first murdered someone?”

Even after all these years, Pan’s pillow talk still surprises him.

Before Felix can reassemble his mind into a state capable of intelligent conversation Pan continues, “Is eleven too young?”

Felix’s head is still off in some post organismic haze and what he sees in his mind is Henry’s hands coated in blood and a knife dangling from his fingers. 

He shakes his head, the boy had been cornered and frightened and hadn’t lashed out. It’s not his nature.

Not yet.

Pan’s not through with him. 

“He can’t.”

“Confident enough to make a wager?”

“And who would he kill?” Certainly he wouldn’t hurt his family and Felix likes to think that Pan doesn’t have a list of expendable Lost Boy’s cataloged in his mind.

Pan raises his eyebrow and Felix nods. “Right.”

A game.

“Chin up, Felix. _I’m_ the one he doesn’t like.”

Felix knows Henry doesn’t possess the necessary skills and training required to kill either of them, but it’s not really the point of the matter.

“Can we bring this up later?”

“Of course,” Pan says, rising. He bounces on the balls of feet, bursting with energy, and winks before pivoting away.

Felix doesn’t know how the kid does it, when all he wants is to curl up and bask in the warm Neverland breeze. To lay unwound and content in the boneless relaxation after exertion and subsequent release.

When Felix looks down his clothes have managed to rematerialize without his notice and, watching Pan stroll carelessly away, Felix concludes that the night is at an end.

Until, that is, Pan gives a jaunty wave behind him and calls out, “Wake the boys. You have five minutes. I’ll get the kid.”

Five minutes, unkempt and messy and Felix licks his lips, wondering if the boys will notice.

Felix wonders if Henry, eleven but with an Evil Queen for a mother, will notice.

Then again, put a deadly weapon into the hands of a person surrounded by his enemies, and he’s only going to notice one thing.

Well, there’s no point in being frustrated or tiresome. He’s a Lost Boy and there are unspoken rules associated with the title. Commandments, really. 

Find the fun. Create the entertainment. It shouldn’t be too hard, all things considered.

Felix stands up, stretches his hands high above his head and looks up at the sky. 

He marvels at the absence of aches and pains, of which he hadn’t been aware he even had, not until they were healed. Chronic, he supposes. So well adapted into him as to be unnoticeable until their repair.

All his pains vanished except, perhaps, for one.

He walks forward and not six paces away the air ripples with Pan’s magic. In the not-so-far distance Felix watches Jack and Ollie materialize, sitting cross-legged across from each other and chatting amicably. 

A cloaking spell, then. Clever. Though working both ways is a bit shrewd.

And, yes. Pan’s definitely a pain. Albeit an endearing one.

Felix shakes his head in amusement and wonders what goes through Pan’s head when he pulls tricks like that. He wonders if Pan knew the boys were so close and if he was tempted to point it out. To prove it.

But Felix knows the answer to that, and so he shrugs it off with a chuckle.

No one’s paying enough attention to notice Felix’s sudden appearance, but they turn with a jolt and smile when he shouts, “So, who’s up for target practice?”


End file.
